


those who favour fire

by DasWarSchonKaputt



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Beta Katsuki Yuuri, Demisexual Katsuki Yuuri, M/M, Minor Katsuki Yuuri/Others, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Victor Nikiforov, POV Katsuki Yuuri, Yuuri Makes Bad Life Choices, he's doing his best, i apologise in advance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 17:27:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20709794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DasWarSchonKaputt/pseuds/DasWarSchonKaputt
Summary: Yuuri tries to find his place in a world that's flooded with open desire.AKA the beta!Yuuri fic I teased on tumblr ages ago. Buckle in folks. It gets wild.





	those who favour fire

**Author's Note:**

> when i first posted this on tumblr i mentioned that i never really know what to do with a/b/o fic. the best way to describe how i feel about this trope is morbid fascination, and i never really had the drive to write anything for it... until now.
> 
> originally, this fic was meant to be a loving parody of the a/b/o genre. the pitch that i started writing off was something like "long suffering beta character resolutely sick of their alpha and omega friends' shit" -- where essentially the beta character kept having to run around after their alpha and omega friends and sort out their drama. this... isn't that fic.
> 
> this fic is tagged victor/yuuri but we've got a long way to go before we get there. yuuri's got to figure some stuff out first. (and not figure out, as the case may be.) we start in hasetsu, during yuuri's last year of high school. part ii takes us to his high school graduation. part iii covers detroit. part iv should hopefully be victor. there should be five parts over all, but i'm only halfway through the second.
> 
> i'm not sure what i should warn for with this one, so if you have any triggers, you can always message me on tumblr, where i am [daswarschonkaputt](https://daswarschonkaputt.tumblr.com). i'll answer any questions you have and i have anon turned on.
> 
> okay. let's get this show on the road.

** i.  
the madonna **

“Puberty,” Yuuko says, violently smacking the blade of her skate against one of the locker room benches, “can suck my dick.” _Smack, _again against the bench. “Secondary sexual dynamics _bullshit_,” _smack_, “can also suck my dick. But most of all, Takeshi,” _smack, _“fucking,” _smack_, “Nishigori,” _smack_, “can suck my fucking dick.” _Smack, smack, smack._

Yuuri quietly moves his own skates out of her reach and into his skate bag. And then kicks the bag out of sight. 

“Where does he even get off with his macho alpha posturing, huh?” she goes on. “Well, I’ll tell you where he won’t be getting off – _in my bed_ .” 

Yuuri watches her inspect her skate blade. It’s still bent enough to unbalance her during more ambitious jumps and spins. 

“He’s just – what, am I supposed to think he owns me now, or something? He was my heat companion. It’s not like that means anything.” 

Yuuko should probably go back to getting her skates and blades properly fitted. It’s harder now that the store in Hasetsu closed down, but there’s one a twenty minute train journey away that does an okay job. Yuuri’s been going there lately. 

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Yuuko says, voice quieter, “right, Yuuri?” 

Yuuri swallows. He drags his thoughts away from boots and blades and professional fits, and tries to order the rest of the mess in his head. 

He knows what he should say. Knowing the right answers to problems like these has never been his problem. 

Yuuri remembers last year, a pretty girl in his class had shyly asked if he would be _her _heat companion. He remembers the blush on her cheeks, the way she pushed and pulled at the fabric of her sleeves with her fingers, how she had seemed embarrassed to ask, but unprepared for rejection. 

The right answer had been clear. Yuuri just couldn’t make his mouth form the words. 

_Yuuko, he’s in love with you. _ Easy. Simple. Caught around his throat like a noose. 

_Yuuko, I wish you wouldn’t talk to me about this stuff. _ Harder. Never going to be heard aloud, to his ears or Yuuko’s. 

“I’m a beta, Yuuko, remember,” Yuuri says. “I don’t really get this stuff.” 

Cowardly. Like Yuuri could be anything else. 

Yuuko sighs. “I know, I know. It’s sort of unfair to expect you to listen to me whine about all this alpha/omega garbage. I just don’t really have anyone to talk to about it, except my parents, and can you imagine how _that _conversation would go?” 

Yuuri can. Yuuri’s been imagining that conversation ever since Yuuko made the first of the ill-advised choices that crystallised into this moment. 

“Yuuko,” Yuuri says with a sigh, suddenly sick of this conversation and all its derivatives. “Just go talk to him.” 

“Ugh, listen to you being all sensible and beta-like,” Yuuko says. She looks at her crooked skate blade, before shaking her head and throwing it in her bag anyway. “You know, growing up, I always figured you’d be an omega like me. You’ve got a nurturing streak. But, now that you’re here, all grown up, I guess I can’t really picture you any other way.” 

Yuuri forces a smile to his face. It probably looks as ugly as it feels. “Just talk to him, Yuuko,” he says. 

She sighs, sounding very put-upon. “Oh, all right.” 

\-- 

Mari is watching a late-night re-run of a match-making show when Yuuri finally gets home after cycling back from the rink. He vaguely recognises it as one of her favourites; he thinks the premise has something to do with scent-blind dating and dynamic-independent matching. 

On screen, a delicate young woman – subtitled as _Kana, 21, A _– is unknowingly chatting up a slender beta man, who she believes to be an omega. The two co-hosts are gossiping in voice-over about the longevity of the attraction. 

“She dumps him next episode,” Mari says when she notices Yuuri’s watching. “Says some bullshit about how he’s not adventurous enough for her, and then goes after one of the omega contestants.” 

Yuuri didn’t ask. 

Mari turns the TV off and stands up, brushing off her clothes. “She gets what’s coming for her in the end, though; the omega she pursues ends up choosing Ichirou at the end of the season.” 

Yuuri supposes Ichirou must be the beta’s name. 

“Good skate?” Mari asks. 

“It was fine,” Yuuri says. 

“How was Yuuko?” 

“Fine, too.” 

Yuuri shuffles through their front room, stopping in front of Vicchan’s dog bed to gently ruffle the poodle’s fur. Vicchan sleepily looks up at Yuuri before leaning into the touch. 

“Mum’s worried about her,” Mari says. “She does know she’s welcome to stay with us if things get messy at home, right?” 

“She knows.” 

“Good,” Mari says. 

Yuuri kisses Vicchan’s head, stands, and heads into the kitchen. He pulls a couple more bottles of sports drink out of one of the cupboards and puts them in the fridge for tomorrow. When he closes the fridge door, he sees the note: _ Please don’t turn off the scent maskers in the hallway! –Mum (23/6-2010) _

Yuuri turns to Mari, who is leaning casually against the doorframe into the kitchen. 

“Mum or Dad?” he asks, indicating the note. 

“Dad,” Mari answers. “He and Mum think the hormone treatments he had to take so they could have us are making his oestropause come early. It’s why he’s been so irregular the past few years.” 

Yuuri grimaces. 

“Yeah,” Mari says. “That was my reaction too, but they don’t want us to worry that something’s wrong.” 

Mum and Dad are probably giving too much credit to Yuuri’s willingness to pay attention to those sorts of patterns. 

“By the way, there was an article in one of Mum’s health magazines about that skater you like – Viktor Something? The one with the hair. I put it on your bed.” 

“Thanks, Mari,” Yuuri says. 

When he gets to his room, he finds the magazine, helpfully already open to the relevant page. 

_ Viktor Nikiforov’s Gold Medal Win, Suppressant Culture, And What It Means For The Modern Omega _

There’s a picture of Viktor beneath the headline, smile strained as he holds up his gold medal from the top of the podium. Yuuri looks between the Viktor in the magazine, sweat visible under the harsh rink lighting, and the polished man in the posters on his wall. 

He walks across his room and drops the magazine into the bin. 

\-- 

Yuuri’s grandmother always used to say it was his mother’s fault that both he and Mari turned out to be betas. It was one of her favourite criticisms to raise, alongside Mum’s choice of job, Mari’s choice of dress, and Yuuri’s choice of sport. 

“I’ve got nothing against Toshiya; he’s a lovely man,” Grandma Katsuki would say, in a speech Yuuri and Mari had heard so many times they could mouth along, “but two omegas just can’t provide the right mix of pheromones that children and babies need to develop right. It’s simple science.” 

It was, Yuuri soon learned at school, simple bullshit. 

Grandma Katsuki was a traditionalist, though, firmly entrenched in her views, and they were all stuck trying not to provoke her without condoning any of her more rabid viewpoints. It was a delicate – and unpleasant – balance to strike. When she passed away in the autumn of last year, Yuuri wasn’t precisely filled with grief – something that made him feel more than a little guilty when he found out she’d left him enough money to fund a season of competitive skating in her will. 

To be honest, if anything, Yuuri should be grateful for Grandma Katsuki and her particular brand of well-meaning intolerance. Nothing could have prepared him better for JSF banquets. 

“Goodness, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to scent-blockers,” a woman with a deceptively kind smile says as she sips a glass of sherry. Her make-up makes it a little hard to guess her age – which must be kind of the point – but Yuuri would place her around mid-50s. “I can’t tell your dynamic at all, only that you use lemon-scented soap.” 

Yuuri takes a gulp of his orange juice, wishing it were something stronger. Not that getting drunk would do him any favours at this particular party; he’s supposed to be networking, or, as Yuuko put it once, _cruisin’ for—uh, sponsors. _Coach Nakano hadn’t been too impressed with that one. 

“No one in my family has a strong scent anyway,” Yuuri says, with a longing glance at the bar. Maybe asking for another orange juice would give him a chance to escape. “You probably wouldn’t even be able to smell me without it.” 

“Ah,” the woman says. She swirls the liquid in her glass. “A beta, I presume? You seem the steady type.” 

Yuuri’s not sure how she can identify him as ‘steady’ from a mere thirty seconds of conversation. Maybe it’s just her polite way of telling him he’s boring. 

“Katsuki-kun, steady?” A voice asks over Yuuri’s shoulder. He doesn’t have to look to know who it is: Kisuke Shimizu, reigning National Champion, alpha, and full-time asshole. “You’ve obviously never seen him skate.” 

Shimizu is only a year older than Yuuri; they skated against each other throughout most of Juniors. He also used to have a pretty big crush on Yuuko, which was funny right up until the point where she punched him in the dick for getting a little too handsy during a photo-op after a competition. Well, Yuuko being groped wasn’t funny. Shimizu’s face as he doubled over in pain kind of was. 

“Ah, Shimizu-san,” the woman says, still swirling her drink, even as the smile fades from her face, “I hadn’t heard you were coming tonight.” 

“An ice show I had lined up cancelled,” Shimizu says. “It’s been a while since I was able to just sit and have a chat with everyone. It’s been pretty non-stop since winning All-Japan.” 

He directs that last part at Yuuri, because he doesn’t know how to be subtle. Maybe he thinks he doesn’t need to be. 

December, Yuuri decides with a touch of viciousness, can’t come fast enough. 

“I’m sure,” the woman says. “Regarding Katsuki-senshu’s skating, I’m afraid we’ll have to agree to disagree. I’m a bit of a skating purist at heart, I’m afraid. To me, the triple Axel is the cornerstone of a program – and Katsuki-senshu’s the only skater in Japan that meets my exacting standards.” 

It’s a distinctly low blow, which is probably why it lands. Everyone knows that Shimizu had flubbed both his Axels in his free skate at worlds just three months ago, and the mistakes had knocked him out of the top ten. Just – no-one expects a smiling older woman in a designer suit to deliver the conversational equivalent of a kick in the balls to Japan’s teenage National Champion. 

She smiles again. “Oh, Shimizu-san, I think I see your coach beckoning you.” 

Shimizu, wisely, takes the opportunity to flee. Yuuri only sort of wishes he could follow. 

After he’s gone, the woman sighs. “Boys like that are why I waited until 30 to find an alpha,” she says. She shakes her head and takes a sip of her drink, like she didn’t casually hand someone their balls via verbal shutdown just five seconds ago. “Your birthday is in November, isn’t it, Katsuki-kun?” 

“Uh, yes,” Yuuri says. He drinks another gulp of his orange juice, if only so that he doesn’t have to say anything else. “I’ll be flying out for the NHK Trophy on the actual day, actually.” 

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he wants to bury his face in his hands. _On the actual day, actually_ – God, the only way he could sound more like an idiot is if he were actively trying. 

“It’s in Nagoya this year, isn’t it?” the woman asks. Yuuri’s beginning to think she must have introduced herself with her name and he just blanked her. “I think I’m there on business during the competition. I’ll have to see if I can pick up tickets for one of the events. My husband’s also something of a fan of yours.” 

The comments smacks of _polite lie_, but Yuuri doesn’t point it out. “I’m sure he’d like that,” he says. There, that sounds nice and neutral, right? 

The woman hums. “I’ve enjoyed talking to you, Katsuki-kun,” she says. She produces a business card from—somewhere, and holds it out for him to take. “If you find yourself with some spare time after skating, you should give me a call. There’s a charming restaurant a short walk away from the skating arena in Nagoya. Michi would love to meet you.” 

It would be melodramatic to say that she leaves him feeling like he’s been hit by a hurricane. There’s no violent sense of upheaval as she throws one last smile over her shoulder and walks away, kitten-heels clacking against the hardwood floor. Instead, he feels like a fly caught in a web. 

He looks down at the card he took from her hand without thinking. 

RAN KATAGIRI  
Ω 

He closes his fingers over it. Maybe he won’t be eaten today, or tomorrow, or even next week – but the creeping dread in his stomach says that it’s going to happen eventually. 

\-- 

“She wants to fuck you.” 

Yuuri chokes on his mouthful of Pocari Sweat. He has to fumble to catch the bottle when he almost drops it, and some of it splatters down onto the ice below. “What?” he wheezes, eyes watering. “No!” 

Yuuko sighs, putting down her rice cracker before she turns in the direction of the skate hire office. “Takeshi?” she calls out. 

Nishigori pokes his head out of the side of the office. He’s holding one of the cheap pairs of rental skates. “Yeah?” he asks. 

“Katagiri-san, the wealthy woman Yuuri met at the banquet he got dragged to in Tokyo,” she prompts. 

“The one that wants to fuck him?” 

Yuuko turns back to Yuuri with both her eyebrows raised. 

Nishigori catches the gesture and with it, the gist of their conversation up until that point. “What, was that ever up for debate?” He saunters over to them, coming to a stop beside Yuuko at the boards. “Yuuri, she literally asked when you were turning 18 and then organised a dinner date for _that exact day_. And didn’t the business card she handed you have her dynamic stamped all over it?” 

Well, when it’s spelled out like that, it does sound kind of like she was angling for something salacious. But— 

“A lot of older people put their dynamic all over their stuff,” Yuuri points out. “It was – I don’t know, stylish back in the day.” He reaches down to brush the loose ice shavings off his skates, just so he won’t have to see the judgement on their faces. 

“Oh, yeah, she’s doing it for _style_,” Yuuko says. “Not because she wants you to fantasise about her supple omega curves – wait how old was she? Because depending on the age heat sex may or may not be on the table.” 

Yuuri straightens immediately. “Yuuko!” he cries, appalled. “I’m not—I wouldn’t—” 

“Relax,” Yuuko says. “I know you’re not into older woman.” She pauses, narrow-eyed mischief spread across her face. “Or _are_ you?” 

Yuuri’s not going to answer that. Not even privately, to himself. 

“You’re thinking about it a little now, aren’t you?” 

No, because the very last thing Yuuri wants to do is to think about an omega that wants to fuck him. He doesn’t say that, though. 

“I wish you two wouldn’t do this,” he says instead. “Her husband’s going to be there at the dinner. It’s not like it’s a date.” 

It’s not the definitive end to the conversation he thought it would be. Yuuko and Nishigori share a look that makes Yuuri’s stomach drop into his feet. 

“What? Yuuko, Nishigori, what?” 

“Is her husband an alpha?” Yuuko asks. 

“I think so?” Yuuri says. “She mentioned waiting a bit to look for an alpha, so I would guess that—Yuuko, seriously, what?” 

“Yuuri, you’re a beta.” 

Yuuri nods, not sure what that has to do with—oh. “Yuuko, no!” 

“I’m just saying,” Yuuko says, “you know how much stock the older generations place in _the_ _perfect triad_, or whatever, and you have to admit, the evidence points towards—” 

“That was my grandmother’s generation!” Yuuri protests. “Katagiri-san can’t be _that _old!” 

“She’s rich, though,” Nishigori points out. “People like that tend to be a little more conservative.” 

“Face it, Yuuri,” Yuuko says, “she wants to make a dynamics salad sandwich, and she wants you to be the juicy, juicy beta meat.” 

“Out of curiosity, who is the bread in that metaphor?” 

“The sheets, maybe? I didn’t really think it through.” 

“Is Yuuri the meat because of his—” 

“I hate you,” Yuuri says, hiding his face behind his hands. “I hate you both so much.” 

“I was going to say _thighs_, Yuuri,” Nishigori says. “I would never ignore your best asset like that.” 

Yuuri tries to bury yet more of his face in his hands. If the ice beneath his feet could just subsume him right about now, that would be great. 

“So, are you going to go?” Yuuko asks. He can hear her chewing in-between the words again; he guesses she picked her cracker back up. “To the dinner, I mean. Obviously, you’re not going to skip out on Nagoya just to avoid this woman.” 

Yuuri had briefly considered it the night after she’d given him her card, actually. He groans and pulls his face out of his hands. “I have to,” he says. “Coach Nakano saw me talking to her and he’s making me do it. Apparently she owns a hotel chain, or her husband does, or whatever.” 

Yuuko snorts. “Coach would probably be delighted if you _did _sleep with her,” she says. “Anything for a good sponsorship.” 

It’s true, but it doesn’t make Yuuri any happier about the entire thing. 

Nishigori reaches over the boards and pats Yuuri’s shoulder consolingly. “Look on the bright side, Yuuri – at least the food will be good.” 

\-- 

June melts into July, and the summer weather burns straight through sweltering into unbearable. Yuuri and Nishigori wait out their days at Hasetsu North High in sticky, sweaty misery, and retreat to the cool of the Ice Castle as soon as they’re let out of school. 

“C’mon, boys, put your back into it!” Yuuko calls down to them as they push their bikes up the hill to the ice rink. She’s standing underneath a lacy parasol that Yuuri recognises as a prop from one of her Juniors exhibitions and wearing a loose yellow sundress. She looks beautiful, but that goes without saying. 

“If you wanted to complain about the speed of our service, you could have always come with us to the store,” Nishigori points out, stopping briefly to wipe the sweat off his brow. 

Yuuri glances up at the remaining distance, and then to the side at Nishigori, who looks about ready to collapse. It’s not that much farther to the top, even with the heat pushing down on them, so Yuuri snatches the bag that’s hanging off Nishigori’s handlebars and hangs it off his own before swinging onto his bike and pedalling the remaining distance to the top. 

Yuuko smiles at him and takes the bags from his handlebars, digging through their purchases to find a bottle of peach-flavoured Ramune. She grins. “Thanks, Yuuri.” 

Yuuri waves her off, wheeling his bike into the rack and locking it in place. 

“If there ever comes a day when you’re wondering why I’ve left you for Yuuri,” Yuuko calls down to Nishigori, “I will cite this incident.” 

Nishigori finally manages to push his bike up the last few metres of hill. “I really want to be offended, but mostly I’m just glad he took the other bag,” he says. “Seriously, Yuuri, there’s knowing intellectually that those are the thighs behind the best triple Axel in Japan, and then there’s seeing them in action. Damn.” 

“I never skip leg day,” Yuuri says with a shrug. 

“Evidently,” Nishigori says with a light laugh. He pulls at his school uniform shirt to stop it from sticking to his skin. “Hey, Yuuko, what’s the rink situation in there like?” 

“You mean how many people are you going to have to kick out when Yuuri’s ice time arrives?” Yuuko asks. She starts to lead them inside the rink. “Eh, about fifteen.” 

“Fifteen? That’s not too bad.” 

“Did I mention they were all junior high kids?” 

“You know what, maybe Nakano-san can be the one to yell at them this time,” Nishigori decides. “He looks like he enjoys yelling.” 

Yuuri shakes his head as he follows them into the rink. 

“He doesn’t _enjoy _yelling, he just—” 

“Just, what? Hates my guts?” 

“He thinks you’re an alpha scoundrel who seduced Yuuko away from her true calling,” Yuuri explains. 

Nishigori stops right in front of the double doors into the rink proper. “He—what, seriously?” 

Yuuko makes a face. “He offered to pay for an abortion,” she says. “I don’t think he understood when I told him I wanted to keep it.” 

Yuuri isn’t particularly surprised; that sounds like Coach. 

Nishigori, on the other hand, looks a few strokes short of murderous. “I’ll get rid of the junior high kids myself,” he says flatly. 

He pushes open the doors to the rink. They clatter shut behind him. 

Yuuko sighs. “He’s not going to cause a scene with Coach, is he?” 

“I don’t think so,” Yuuri says. 

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” she says softly. “Takeshi never got all that involved in the competitive skating scene. It’s hard for him to understand. Coach was just trying to take care of me.” 

There are always right answers, and there are always wrong ones. 

_Maybe you give Nishigori too little credit._

_Maybe you give Coach Nakano too much._

“I should go get ready,” Yuuri says. 

Yuuko’s hands tighten around the handle of her parasol, but she doesn’t say anything. 

Yuuri gives her one last look before turning around and walking to the changing rooms. 

\-- 

Coach Nakano’s older skaters always used to look at Yuuri like he was a threat. At first, Yuuri – then barely ten years old – had assumed it was because he was new and they didn’t know him, but it never went away. He didn’t understand until three years later, his first season in Juniors, when he outskated all but three of them, just barely missing the podium at Junior Nationals. 

After that, Coach Nakano increased Yuuri’s contact hours. One of the older skaters left. Yuuri skated another season, came out on top of another two, and was sent to Junior Worlds. Coach Nakano increased his contact hours again. 

Yuuri figured it out around then. Yuuko never did. 

“Sloppy on the edges,” Coach Nakano says, a frowning figure at the edge of the rink. “You’re better than this, Yuuri-kun.” 

“Yes, Coach.” 

“Take the steps slower this time. We can set them to music once you’ve got your feet moving right.” 

“Yes, Coach.” 

Yuuri skates back around the rink, gathering speed. He comes down the centre-line, and launches into the steps once more. Step. Step. Turn. Turn. Triple Lutz. The jump is under-rotated, but he lands on his feet, and he stays there. 

Yuuri looks up at Coach Nakano. He’s still frowning. 

“Again,” Coach says. 

\-- 

“You’re not going to tell Yuuko about this, are you?” Nishigori asks. “Because she still hasn’t let me live down that time with the ramen.” 

Yuuri adjusts his grip on Nishigori’s thighs, shifting his friend’s weight so that it settles higher up his back. Nishigori’s arms are draped loosely over Yuuri’s shoulders and his legs around his waist; if Yuuri positions him so the strain is on his hips rather than his arms, he should be able to keep carrying him for the rest of the walk to the bus stop. 

“Which part?” Yuuri asks. “That you injured your ankle, or that you did it because you were too busy staring at Yamaguchi-kun to watch where you were going?” 

“I was thinking more about the fact that it was Yamashita-sensei who broke my fall,” Nishigori replies, breath hot against the back of Yuuri’s neck. “I guess I can kiss my passing grade in history goodbye.” 

“You broke her glasses.” 

“I know,” Nishigori groans into Yuuri’s neck. It almost tickles. “Did you hear her afterwards? ‘_Those were limited edition._’ I’m so dead.” 

“Yuuko and I will give you a beautiful funeral.” 

“Will you do an interpretive dance for my eulogy? It’s what I would have wanted.” 

“I’m sure Minako-sensei would agree to choreograph it,” Yuuri says. “What music would you want?” 

“Something sensual – I want a minimum of five thigh-slaps in my eulogy. Really highlight what a stud I was.” 

“I could always drop you, if you’d rather walk.” 

Nishigori laughs. Yuuri briefly considers dropping him anyway. 

“Yuuri, I wasn’t staring at Yamaguchi-kun,” Nishigori says a moment later, voice low. 

_So falling down the stairs is a regular occurrence for you?_

_You’re full of shit._

“Yuuko’s the one you have to convince,” Yuuri says. 

Nishigori sighs. 

They fall into an easy silence. Yuuri carries Nishigori the rest of the way to the bus stop, setting him and his schoolbag down in the shade before heading back to school to pick up his bike and cycle home. 

Yuuri hesitates as he starts to walk away. “You’ll be okay?” he asks Nishigori. 

Nishigori smiles, wide and genuine and effortless. “Always am, Yuuri,” he says. 

Once, when Yuuri was feeling particularly masochistic, he tried to figure out why Yuuko picked Nishigori to be her heat companion. He hadn’t felt envious precisely, so much as deeply upset for reasons he couldn’t identify. He’d imagined how he could talk her out of it, saying things like, _He picked on me relentlessly for ten years, _and, _How can you be sure he’ll treat you right?_

It was petty. Yuuri looks back on the memory with shame. 

The thing is, in moments like this, as Nishigori sits in the afternoon sun, wearing his good humour like he doesn’t even have to think about it, like it just comes naturally – in moments like this, Yuuri gets it. 

And he looks at himself and he finds himself sorely lacking. 

\-- 

School ends for the summer on the 23rd of July and with it, the last of the dry weather. Heavy rain in the mid-afternoon quickly becomes standard and Yuuri ends up having to buy an overpriced umbrella from a souvenir shop to save himself the humiliation of using Mari’s – which has the dubious honour of being official Tohoshinki merchandise. 

Yuuri can hear the rain now, beating against the glass doors of the clinic. His umbrella is leant against Nishigori’s leg, slowly soaking through his trousers. 

Nishigori has yet to notice. 

“Do you think there’s something wrong?” 

Yuuri pulls his eyes up to Nishigori’s face. “I’m sure it’s fine.” 

“But they’ve been in there a long time.” 

“I think that’s just how long it takes usually.” 

“She didn’t want me in there with her, though. Maybe she already knew something wasn’t right and wanted to be alone.” 

Yuuri flicks his eyes over to the clock and then down to the alpha health magazine in his lap. The front cover shows a muscular woman arm-wrestling with an equally muscular man, the words _Gordian Knot _branded across the top of them. He’d picked it blindly, eager to have something to occupy both his hands and his mind. 

He closes the magazine and holds out his hand for Nishigori. 

Nishigori doesn’t hesitate to grip it. Hard. 

Yuuri winces, but doesn’t try to take his hand back. “Yuuko will be fine,” he says. 

“She’ll be fine,” Nishigori repeats. He sounds a little frantic. 

“Omega women tend to have the easiest time of pregnancy out of everyone,” Yuuri says. He focuses on Nishigori’s grip on his hand as he says the words. “We learnt about it in biology, remember? Their bodies are specifically adapted for carrying children.” 

“I remember,” Nishigori says. 

“So she’ll be fine,” Yuuri goes on. 

Nishigori’s grip on Yuuri’s hand slackens, but he doesn’t let go. Yuuri doesn’t mention it. 

“Here,” he says, handing Nishigori the magazine he was reading. “Read an article on picking a complementary cologne for your scent and sit tight until Yuuko comes out and joins us.” 

Nishigori quirks an eyebrow. “And what did they say matched the subtle tones of SportScent Pro blocking patches?” 

Yuuri opens his mouth to reply, but before he can say anything the door to the examination room opens and Yuuko emerges, a dazed expression on her face. Nishigori drops Yuuri’s hand and kicks over the umbrella on his way over to her. 

“Is everything okay?” he asks. “You’re not hurt, or—” 

“Takeshi,” Yuuko cuts across him, “we’re having triplets.” 

There’s a beat of stunned silence, before Nishigori asks in a small voice, “Triplets?” 

Yuuko nods. “Triplets.” 

“Like, three babies?” 

“Three babies.” 

“Holy fuck.” 

Yuuri picks up his umbrella and watches the emotions cross Nishigori’s face. There’s bewilderment, daunted fear, incredulity, and then – finally – delight. 

“Triplets!” he says, and Yuuri finds himself torn out of his seat as Nishigori graps hold of him and pulls him into a tight hug. “Triplets, Yuuri!” 

Yuuri stares at him, not entirely sure what the right response is to this. 

And then Yuuko laughs. 

Yuuri turns to her. 

She isn’t showing yet, not in any way that is visible beneath her loose dress, but it’s like something has shifted in Yuuri’s mind. _She’s going to be a mother_, and it seems so unlikely, so ridiculous, but – _it suits her_. 

Nishigori lets go of him and Yuuko takes his place, arms wrapped tight around Yuuri. “You’re going to be their godfather,” she whispers. “I’m not taking no for an answer.” 

For a moment, the first thing Yuuri thinks of is Yuuko’s face when she emerged from that public bathroom, all those weeks ago, hand white-knuckled around the pregnancy test she’d begged Yuuri to buy for her. She collected herself quickly, and laughed it off, calling the test _The Stick of Destiny_, and pretended like she was fine, but Yuuri knew. 

Yuuri’s always known. 

Yuuri hugs her back. “Okay,” he says. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! follow me on tumblr at [daswarschonkaputt](https://daswarschonkaputt.tumblr.com).


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